


In the Dark of Any Town

by heartofthesunrise



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M, Post-Zayn One Direction, zayn pain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-20
Updated: 2019-02-20
Packaged: 2019-10-31 22:00:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17857730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heartofthesunrise/pseuds/heartofthesunrise
Summary: For the prompt "Things You Said at the Kitchen Table."





	In the Dark of Any Town

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sarcangel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarcangel/gifts).



> Rebloggable on tumblr [here.](https://warpedtourniall.tumblr.com/post/182926361776/13-but-you-pick-the-ship-3)

It’s like this: 

Louis will be missing home. He does, he always does. It’s not very grown up, so he’s trying to squish it as far down as he can. He’s eating a well-known brand of sugary, American cereal. His mum would shake her head at him if she could see him. 

It’s too late to text her without her worrying. Between the time difference and the way it seems like he’s aged four hundred years since they all left for judges’ houses, it’s like he can never find the right, normal, casual time to talk to his mum. He wonders if it’s always going to be like this, now. 

He can hear somebody snoring. He listens. It’s Liam - he’s had a cold, lately, and it makes them all nervous. None of them want to cover for him during a show. 

There’s a hesitant footstep, and then Zayn is by Louis’ shoulder, tapping his knuckles against the plastic tabletop before sliding onto the bench across from Louis. Outside the tinted bus windows, there’s acres of cornfields whipping by. 

They haven’t seen anything but cornfields in hours. 

“Y’alright?” Zayn says. His voice is soft and old-sounding. It sounds like the voice of a very old, rotting tree in a forest somewhere. What a stupid thing to think. Louis must be very tired. 

Zayn looks like he’s only just woken up. There’s a gob of something in the inner corner of his eye, and Louis is gratified by it. He likes to be reminded that Zayn can look ugly, can sound terrible. Zayn can smile sleepily at him across the table and just be his friend, and it can be simple. 

“Yeah,” Louis says. “Can’t sleep, ‘sall.” 

Zayn bumps his knuckles against Louis’ and takes the cereal box from him, digging a hand in and pulling out a fistful of marshmallows. 

“‘Kay,” he says. “Let’s stay up.”

- 

It’s like this: 

Zayn will wander through the bus after a shower smelling like sandalwood and the undercurrent of cigarettes he never quite manages to wash off. He’s sending a text, so he keeps nearly running into things, even as Niall leans up off the couch to tug on his sleeve, keep him from tripping over somebody’s upturned duffel bag.

From this angle Louis can’t tell what he’s writing, but it must be about the size of a novel. The text box takes up the entire screen. 

He’s been going through it with Pez, since the pictures, and all. 

Louis could’ve seen  _that_ coming. It’s not that Zayn’s a bad guy, or anything. At least Louis doesn’t think so. It’s that he makes mistakes on purpose, sometimes. He’s always testing his limits. Louis thinks sometimes Zayn fucks up because he needs to know people will forgive him, and he keeps doing it, and they keep letting him, so it’s probably not going to get better. 

Zayn fills a glass of water and sits down with his knees drawn up, composing the rest of his text. 

It’s an awful thing to say, but Louis has always enjoyed being an accessory to Zayn’s exercises in self-sabotage. It makes him feel like they’re closer, like he knows Zayn in some essential way nobody else does, because they’ve seen the worst one another have to offer and come away unimpressed. 

We can do better than this, they think. There’s so much we haven’t done yet. 

-

It’s like this: 

Louis will be just stoned enough to feel stupid about it, but not enough to be having any fun anymore. It’ll be late, or early. He can’t remember the last time he felt well-rested. He can’t remember the last time he could say, with certainty, exactly where he stood. 

Suffice it to say he’s not taking the breakup well.

Another terrible thing to admit: Louis likes it better when Zayn’s the one really making a mess. He likes to pick Zayn up off the ground when Perrie’s trying to decide if she’s leaving for good this time. It’s always felt good to know that he treats El better than that, that they’re steadier, stronger. 

He’d felt so betrayed, so stupid, when she finally finished with him. 

Across the table Zayn is rolling another joint, his lips parted in a soft “oh” of concentration. After a moment he passes it to Louis with his lighter. They’re drinking beer, too, the piss-yellow midwestern stuff you can get at any truckstop, any time of the day or night. Zayn finishes one and crushes the can in his fist before taking the joint back from Louis. 

Two sadsacks, they’ve got the bus to themselves tonight. 

Louis thinks about how Zayn’s mouth looks, cradling the joint in two fingers as he lets out a foggy exhale. How it might feel to be the one who really fucks up, for once. How satisfying it might be, to really crack is life open like Zayn’s always doing. 

“Zee,” he says, but he chokes on the smoke and coughs, like he’s a teenager again. Zayn pushes a beer across the table and Louis gulps it. He takes a deep, juddering breath when he’s done. “Let’s go to bed,” he says. It’s there in his inflection, if Zayn’s looking for it. Louis hopes he’s looking for it. 

Zayn blinks slowly, his big doe-eyes bloodshot and wary. He knows what Louis means. 

“Alright,” he says, and they do. 

-

It’s like this: 

Zayn will go silent for days. It’s not like how he’s usually quiet - he’s like a cat, usually, he likes to sit in the room where the people are, even if he’s not saying much, even if he’s reading a book or drawing or fucking around on his phone. 

Aside from the soundchecks and the gigs, Louis feels like he hasn’t seen Zayn in  _days._ He’ll hoist himself up into his bunk when they get back to the bus, and he won’t come back out until they have some obligation the next day, press or an itinerary check or whatever. 

Louis spends his nights rattling around like a marble in a beer can, alone on the bus, while Zayn sleeps or avoids him or does whatever he does when they’re not together. When Zayn misses dinner one night Louis makes him a sandwich and texts him to say he’s leaving it on the table for him. 

It’s still there when he wakes up the next morning.

-

It’s like this: 

Louis will feel so angry he can’t think, or speak. 

At first he’d spammed Zayn’s phone with texts, and then he’d gotten to calling him, endless, over and over again. It went straight to voicemail every time, like Zayn had turned off his phone. 

Louis cracks the mirror in his hotel room’s en suite bathroom and it gashes the side of his hand, shallow but bloody. Liam - who’d been sent as some kind of emissary to calm him down - grabs both Louis’ hands and holds them against his own chest, not letting go even when Louis shouts at him to fuck off. He's getting blood all over Liam’s ridiculous Kanye West plain white t-shirt. 

They both end up on the floor beside the marble tub, Liam cleaning Louis’ hand with hand sanitizer and a paper towel, apologizing for the sting. 

Liam doesn’t have anything to be sorry for, Louis thinks. He lets Liam say it anyway, because it seems to make him feel better. Liam holds the paper towel around Louis’s hand with both of his. 

“I miss him too, you know,” Liam says, quietly, like he knows Louis might snap at him for invoking Zayn. 

“It’s not the same,” Louis says. He doesn’t need to look to know Liam is making that wounded little boy face of his. “I don’t know how to explain it but it’s not the same, so stop pretending like it is.” 

Liam lets go of his hand and stands up, dusting himself off. “I know you’re hurt,” he says stiffly. “But you don’t get to be an asshole to the people who are trying to help you.” Louis can tell he’s trying not to cry. “You don’t get to behave like you’re the only one affected by this.” 

Liam leaves him alone, then, which is what he’d really wanted. It’s stupid, but true: at that moment, the only person who’d know how to console him is Zayn. 

Louis pulls his phone out, hovers his thumb over Zayn’s name in his recent calls. He knows he’s not going to answer. He gets up and plugs the drain in the bathroom sink, and runs cold water until it’s full. He tips his phone into it, turns out the lights, and goes to bed. 


End file.
